A Slight Change in Programming
by Nagasha
Summary: Things often get changed midproduction when it comes to games. Sometimes it's little details, like a minor character changing color or a level being scrapped. But it can also be big things, like the gender of the lead character. Just ask Seargent Camoran Calhoun of Hero's Duty. (Hero's Cuties, Yaoi.)
1. Prologue

**So... author's notes. Or rather, a dedication:**

**This is for my wonderful girlfriend, who has been by my side for many years as friends, practically sisters, and now as romantic interests. To my Spice Girl, I love you, and I have always loved you, although in different ways. And even if we go our separate ways (all divine presences from Allah to Zeus forbidding), you will always be in my heart.**

**Now, what does this have to do with this story? Well, tomorrow is Spice's birthday, and since she's a yaoi fangirl, and I'm a Wreck-It Ralph fangirl, I decided to conbine our practically unhealthy obsessions into one! **

**As for why I chose to go with male!Calhoun, it's in part because I know Spice wouldn't like me breaking up such a cute couple, in part because Calhoun was originally going to be male but they changed it, but mostly because _I_ didn't want to break up a cute couple. Seriously, they are adorable.**

Ted took a large gulp of his coffee, grimacing as he realized it had gone cold. That makes it the third cup today. Still, he couldn't complain, having gotten what was essentially his dream job.

Ever since he was a child playing Fix-It Felix Jr, Ted had loved arcade games, always having the burning desire to help design an arcade game, a MODERN arcade game. One that could bring kids running back to the arcades and family centers.

It seemed that Hero's Duty was going to be that game. How could it not? The graphics were a brand new standard for video games, let alone arcade games, and while the plot was pretty basic, the way the soldiers interacted with the player more than made up for it. When they were done, it was going to be as if the players were surrounded by real people, not just computer programs.

And Ted wasn't just boasting when he said he was a big part of it. He was the sole designer in charge of creating Sergeant Tamora Jean Calhoun, the woman in charge of the whole operation and the main leader to the first person shooter. She was a work of beauty, if he said so himself. Which he did. A lot.

But she was something to brag about. Everything from her military yet gorgeous looks to her tough as nails attitude to her tragic backstory he handcrafted himself, turning her into a work of art.

Which of course, made him all the more furious when his submission was returned by Freddy, the mailroom clerk.

Ted stood up from his desk, shoving the form into Freddy's face. "What the hell is this?"

Freddy looked disinterested, straightening out the paper and handed it back to him. "It looks they vetoed your design."

"Vetoed my-! Vetoed Tamora!" Ted shouted, crumpling the paper in his hands instead of the bastard's neck. "Why would they veto my Tamora?!"

Freddy took back the paper, once again straightening it out. He read it quickly before handing it back. "Apparently, it's because she is a woman." The 'can't you read?' was implied.

"What?" Ted stood there in shock, not even taking the paper. "Why would they- women have their place in the military! This is the twenty first century!"

Freddy sighed again, putting the paper down on the cluttered mess of a desk, careful to put it where there was no coffee stains. "Yes, and the CEO was alive at the beginning of the twentieth, and what he said goes. Just do what he says and make change the character. Name him... Travis or something. You could even call him 'Ted', if you like."

"But... but... Her wedding day." Ted said dumbly, still in shock. His lovely Tamora, his dynamite girl... Gone.

Freddy sighed; this was not in his job description. Why can't these idiots do their own jobs? "Look, just make it her best friend's wedding or something. I don't know, I just deliver the mail, I don't write it." With that, he left; ready to deliver the rest of the bad news to people.

Ted stood there in silence, trying to process the information. He sunk into his seat, staring at the picture he printed of her taped to his desk for inspiration. Her crystal eyes stared right into him, judging him. She seemed to almost be saying "Well soldier, are you going to cry like a sissy girl, just because you didn't get your way? Or are you going to fight back?"

Ted stood up, resolute. He WAS going to go up there, and tell those corporate bigwigs what for! ...And then he'd get fired, and would likely be on the black list for all the game companies worldwide because of it.

Okay, new plan. He was going to fight back in a more subtle way. With... CODING!

Ted cracked his fingers and sat back down, typing intensely, with the occasional pause to gulp down more coffee. Out of the corner of his eye, he would have sworn he saw the picture of Tamora smirking at him.

* * *

Sergeant Camoran Calhoun opened her- no, _his, _that was changed in programming- eyes. He was standing in a field of nothingness, empty space as far as the eye could see. Still, he remained vigilant, lest one of the enemy attack while his guard is down. The fact that he did not know who- or what- the enemy was did not deter him. He had his mission, even if he didn't know what it was.

And then suddenly, he did. They were Cybugs, a government experiment on an unnamed planet that had gone horribly wrong, and he and his men were sent to put a stop to it. He remembered getting the call, leaving his home planet on the call for more brave souls to train, fight, and even die for their solar system. He managed to break records in basic training, and went on to become one of the youngest commanding officers in the history of the armed forces. The background shifted to the battleground he was programmed to fight across, looking both brand new and familiar at the same time. He hadn't fought across it yet, but at the same time, he's battled here for years.

Then he remembered Brad Scott, his _fiancéeloverbestfriend _secret love. They met in basic training, and he fell in love with the broad shouldered scientist. However, Brad only saw him as a buddy, practically a brother.

And Camoran accepted it. He was realistic enough to know that Brad wouldn't love him like that, and he was content enough just being friends, even if he truly wanted something more. And he… tolerated… that pretty little intern Brad started dating, even though she was just a stupidly airheaded slip of a girl who didn't know one end of a gun from the other. He even agreed to be the best man at their wedding, although his teeth had gotten a thorough grounding that day.

He wished now that he stopped that girl before they even got close, slapped some sense into Brad when he had the chance. But he didn't, and life was all the worse for it.

Camoran closed his eyes, trying to get rid of the memories swelling in his mind, each one blasting like fission bombs against his psyche. He had to remind himself that it wasn't his fault, that he had no idea what was going to happen and that he couldn't have changed any of it anyway. It was just backstory, and that was all it was. Even if it tore a hole through his heart.

"Sarge!" Calhoun's eyes snapped open, and he spun towards the voice, gun already pointed at the speaker. He relaxed only marginally when he saw it was Kohut, lowering his gun but not dropping it. When he looked at his second in command, he remembered all the good times they had in training, how the older, gruffer looking man was the first person he came out to, how he got a three week suspension for knocking out another soldier for badmouthing 'the fag'.

Calhoun nodded, letting his gun slip back into his inventory. "Kohut." He nodded, acknowledging the closest person he had to a friend.

"I just want you to know that male or female, gay or straight, you're still the Sarge, and I will always respect you." Kohut stated, his rough voice going almost soft, or at least as soft as it could get. The marines tended to beat the softness right out of them. That much was made clear by his next line. "And that I'd deck anybody who says otherwise, got it."

Calhoun gave him what was almost a smile, and a playful punch to the shoulder. "Not if I get to them first, soldier."

Kohut looked down at him, amazed by what was a surprisingly good-humored action from the typically dour sergeant. "You alright, Sarge?" He asked, sounding concerned. "You seem a bit… off."

Suddenly, Calhoun realized that their memories might not have matched up, that the change in his second's might not have been as complete as the change in his. He stood up straight, looking Kohut straight in the eye. The corporal shifted uncomfortably, and Calhoun nearly smirked. He still got it.

"Do you remember the wedding, soldier?" Calhoun asked, his voice low and harsh. He didn't like mentioning it, already didn't like remembering it, but it was the fastest way he could get to make Kohut realize the change.

"Well, yeah, but-" he stopped, his eyes glazing over slightly as his memories reset themselves to the new events. "Oh. That… certainly changes things."

"You bet your sweet patootie it does, soldier." This time, Calhoun did smirk. "Now come on, let's go find the rest of the troops and make sure we're all ready for the players. Just because it's the first time being played doesn't mean we're going to sit around and have a sleepover."

Kohut saluted him, his bulky frame dwarfing the sergeant's small and thin stature- Calhoun was certain that the moddarned programmer made him shorter than he was supposed to be as a woman, just to make some sort of sick joke- but nonetheless showing him the respect he deserved.

It was like he said: gay or straight, male or female, he was still Sergeant Calhoun of the Space Marines, and he had his job to do.


	2. Chapter 1

**Hey, my readers and... readettes? I'm glad you all liked my story (especially one of you in particular. I'm talking to you, Spice! I love you!) and I hope you continue to read on.**

**I'd like to point out that the differences in the storyline are going to happen mostly because of Calhoun's change in backstory, rather than gender. Our history is what defines us, and Camoran Calhoun has a different history than Tamora Calhoun, which means that he is not just her spear counterpart... okay, technically he is, but that doesn't mean they're exactly identical with just the names and pronouns swapped.**

**Plus, you've (probably) seen the movie. Why would you want to read the chapters in this story that are about the events of the movie if it's exactly the same as in the movie? Sounds kind of boring, which isn't something I'd want to put in my story.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I had writing it!**

Calhoun realized quickly that 'Markowski' wasn't one of his men. Markowski might not be his favorite soldier, but he knew him well enough to realize when somebody was pretending to be him. Besides, the mask might blur this intruder's face, but it couldn't hide his gut. Still, he couldn't interrogate this impostor just yet, not while game time is going on. Whoever he was, he can have his time playing soldier until the all clear. But then? His behind was Calhoun's.

It was all the worse that this pretender was an utter failure of a soldier. Markowski might be a bumbling idiot, but he could still do his duty, unlike _this_ bumbling idiot. He may have had his dumb moments, but he would _never_ cower between the first person shooter.

Then, after only the first game, Calhoun received word from Kohut that Markowski's armor was dumped by the station, the imposter nowhere to be found. Calhoun grinded his teeth angrily, enraged at the idea of not only someone trying to impersonate one of his soldiers, but then giving up and running away to their mama with their tail between their legs after one measly little cybug attack. No matter, they still had his voice clip, general information based on his body taken by Markowski's armor and his actions when he was trying to play soldier. That would be enough information to hunt him down with.

Calhoun only hoped that they'd be able to find Markowski, and that he hadn't been killed. Calhoun wasn't particularly fond of Markowski, especially whenever he pulled some stupid stunt like whatever he had done to get his suit stolen, but he was one of his men, and he felt responsible for him in the same way a school teacher felt responsible for a well meaning but difficult student.

He just had to grit his teeth and bear it, unless he wanted the players to notice something was up. He'd already heard some questions about what happened to the funny soldier, although thankfully it wasn't enough for them to call over Litwak. Not yet, anyway. But there was a good chance that if they didn't get Markowski back, people were going to start wondering about it, and if Litwak sees a glitch this early after the game is installed…

Calhoun knew he was probably being paranoid, but paranoia was the only thing keeping them from being eaten by a cybug when they least expect it. He clenched his fists, thinking of Brad and his stupid, stupid girl. They should have been more careful… _he_ should have been more careful!

But none of them were, and Brad and his little twit paid the price. Calhoun closed his eyes, thankful that there was a break in game play and that nobody was near him. His men knew him well enough not to approach when he was like this.

The blare of the Quarter Alert roused him from his programmed regrets. Calhoun straightened, and headed back into position with the rest of his men. Missing Markowskis and miserable memories had to wait; he had his duty.

* * *

Calhoun couldn't help but feel relieved at the all clear. He was a man of action, and after a day of essentially sitting on his hands while one of his men was missing, he was prepared to find the son of a dog who stole one of his soldier's armor and teach him why you do not mess with one of his soldiers.

It didn't take him long to amass a squadron of men to go and search for Markowski, while the rest stay behind to patrol for cybugs, as well as make sure that the imposter didn't just stay behind, although that wasn't likely. If he'd been wandering around without armor, he'd probably be dead by now, from either the cybugs or a stray bullet. Still, they would probably need to return the body to it's home game, so the people there could make plans for what to do without that character. Besides, Calhoun wanted to slap the fool's corpse for trying to enter his game and impersonate one of _his_ soldiers.

He was about to take off for Tapper's with his men, when the doors of the shuttle started to slide open. Calhoun was instantly on guard. "Cybug," he hissed, putting up a hand to stop his men from advancing any further.

As soon as they heard a strange beeping noise, Calhoun and his men started to fire at the strange projectile rapidly bouncing through the walls of the doorway and away from their bullets. An explosion propelled the bouncing object behind Calhoun, something he quickly undid with a sweeping kick, throwing it back ahead of the squadron.

No, not it. Him. The person in front of him might have been unlike any of the people he had seen before, but he was still a person. Calhoun put the muzzle of his gun to the figure's face.

"Slick tiddlywinking, pintsize." He said with a slight smirk, impressed by this tiny little man's ability to dodge all of their gunfire, in spite of what Calhoun presumed to be a lower tech character, judging by the simplicity of his design.

"I'm Fix It Felix Jr., sir! Of the game, Fix It Felix Jr.!" The man lying on the ground blurted out, hands held up in a protective measure. He looked so… _harmless…_ that Calhoun was tempted to move away his gun. However, he kept it there for now. Baby cybugs looked cute too, until they grew up and ate your face.

In any case, Felix's fear seemed to dissolve away as he muttered "jiminy jaminy," or some such nonsense, and he started to sit up, absentmindedly pulling Calhoun's gun barrel closer to him. "Look at that high definition… Your face! It's _amazing._"

Calhoun jerked his gun away from the obviously unhinged character, unsure of whether to be flattered or unnerved by this behavior. "What are you here for, soldier?" He growled, hoping that the men didn't hear Fix It's statement. There would be no way that they would let him live it down, even if he was their commanding officer.

The diminutive figure stood up sheepishly, obviously coming to his senses after such an embarrassing display. "W-well, I'm looking for my colleague, Wreck It Ralph. Have you seen him?"

"What are his stats?" Seeing Felix's confusion, Calhoun clarified. "An intruder entered our game wearing one of my soldier's armor. There is a very high likelihood that would be your friend. Is he around six feet tall, roughly three hundred pounds, and sounds like this?"

Fix It looked even more confused after the voice clip of the intruder. "Well, that's Ralph's voice alright, but the height and weight are off. Really he's-"

Whatever Ralph was, it was interrupted by a triangularly shaped rocket, which Calhoun recognized as one of the escape pods from the tower. It flew past them, giving both Calhoun and Fix It a good view of both passengers.

"Ralph!" Felix called out, but Calhoun was focused on the other occupant of the pod.

"Cybug."


	3. Chapter 2

**Wow, I am so happy with the way this turned out! This is where I think I've gotten into Calhoun's head the best, and where the diversions from the canon timeline really start. In fact, what am I blathering on about? ONTO THE STORY! **

**Disclaimer: I neither own Wreck It Ralph, or my heart. Those belong to Disney and Spice respectively.**

**Chapter 2**

Calhoun ignored the little figure, pushing him aside while he headed out the door, blaster in hand. He could apologize later.

For now, Fix It and the strange fascination he showed didn't matter, nor did the either dead or going-to-be-when-Calhoun-got-a-hold-of-him Markowski, or even the imposter who caused this whole mess.

No, all that mattered was the cybug, and stopping it, whatever the cost.

The men knew not to follow him when he was like this, which was good. While backup might become necessary, he wouldn't call on it until he absolutely had to. If the escape pod landed in the station, he could kill the cybug easily. But if it landed in one of the games, he'd have to search for it, and having a platoon of soldiers marching into an unsuspecting game is a surefire way to startle the inhabitants, and complicate matters immensely. Besides, the men had all the subtlety of a herd of rhinos.

The Surge Protector stopped him as soon as he crossed the entrance way holding a very dangerous weapon- despite the fact that it was nothing compared to some of the weapons found on the higher levels-, just as he had intended. From the way he glanced up from his clipboard, eying him in an annoyed fashion, he knew it was intended.

Smart man. But then again, he'd have to be to do his job.

Calhoun cut him off before he could even ask his usual questions. Typically he would let the blue being do his job, but time was of the essence. "Sergeant Calhoun, exiting Hero's Duty, heading to wherever the escape pod holding a possibly dangerous convict and a cybug had landed."

Surge sighed under his breath, sounding almost frustrated by the interruption in his routine, or possibly because he let the cybug through. Calhoun wasn't sure of either one, but later he'd make it up to him; they were both just men doing their jobs, and he seemed like a useful ally to have on his side in case this happened again. However, for now he has to do his duty.

"They flew into that sweet little game over there," Surge briskly walked him to an outlet titled Sugar Rush, thankfully sensing the urgency in Calhoun's voice. He didn't know how much the seemingly all knowing energy being knew about the cybugs, but at least he could tell that it was something important. Once he led him there, Surge vanished, leaving Calhoun to do his job while he did his. Calhoun could respect that.

Calhoun faced the empty tunnel, which was covered in graffiti and void of the train. He scowled, enraged at the fact that he'd have to walk the way.

"Sarge!" Calhoun turned to face Kohut, who had apparently followed him out carrying his gear, which he had forgotten in his obsessively focused state. Calhoun gave a small smirk for a fraction of a second before forcing it off his face. There was a reason why Kohut was the second in command. Hopping behind him was the frantic Fix It, still looking nervous and confused.

"Kohut, my cruiser." Calhoun commanded, still ignoring the smaller sprite. At this point, he's nothing but a distraction.

Kohut tossed it to him, and Calhoun caught it easily, putting it down and turning it into it's hoverboard state, stepping on it. He was about to take off when he heard a call. "Wait!"

Calhoun turned his head to see Fix It running forward. His face hardened into a scowl as he looked down at the tiny character. Couldn't he see he was wasting precious time that could be used stopping the cybug? "What is it?"

"I'm coming with you." In any other scenario, the way Fix It's little chest puffed out as he tried to look tough would be amusing. However, with a rouge game-jumper and a cybug loose in some hapless kiddy game, he was nothing but a nuisance.

"Do you even know what a cybug is?" There was something cold and hard in his voice, something barely restrained, as though he was struggling to keep himself from ripping Fix It to shreds with his bare teeth. The character in question shook his head, taking a few nervous steps back.

"A cybug is a virus, plain and simple. _They _don't know they're in a game. All they know is eat, kill, multiply." A part of him felt ashamed to see the little man pull back in fright, but the rest of him knew he had to keep going, so that the idiot didn't try and follow. "Without a beacon, there won't be anything stopping them from eating that game up. And do you think they're going to stop there?"

"Yes!" Fix It guessed hopefully, and it was all Calhoun could do to not punch him where he stood for being so goshdarn optimistic. "No! They'll consume that game, and move on to the whole arcade. If I don't kill that cybug before it reproduces, we're going to have an epidemic on our hands."

"You mean if _we_ don't stop the cybugs, sir!" This time, Calhoun did punch him, although he did restrain himself enough so that he didn't hear the familiar crunch of broken bones. He didn't want to kill the fragile looking sprite, as annoying as he might be. "Did you listen to a word I said, shortstack?"

Fix It winced visibly at his broken nose, before hitting himself with a golden hammer and restoring himself back to normal. "Yes I did, sir."

"Then why are you insisting on coming along?" Calhoun growled, forcing his fists to remain at his sides. It wouldn't do anybody any good if he kept attacking the smaller figure. Besides, there was a part of him that felt guilty at hurting someone so harmless and defenseless he was practically adorable.

Fix It squared himself up, trying to make himself look as tall as possible. "Because this is all Ralph's fault, and it's as much my duty to fix what he breaks as it is for you to stop that cybug, sir!"

Calhoun grimaced at his use of the word duty. Whether the 8-bit hero knew it or not, he managed to resonate with him just by using that single word. For a moment, the sergeant considered taking him, but-

_-"Brad Hartley Scott! What do you think you're doing?!" Calhoun_- no, he was Camoran then. He didn't become Calhoun until… later._- yelled angrily, marching up to his best friend, near-brother, and secret passion, shooting cybugs out of reflex and instinct alone. "No civilians on the battlefield!"_

_Brad looked at him in a mix between annoyance and regret, holding the civilian, a pretty little blonde, close to him with one arm, shooting cybugs with the gun in his other hand. "Camoran, will you just relax? This is a low danger zone, and she just wanted to see what being a soldier is like. There's nothing wrong with that."_

_"Nothing wrong with- you brought Lockload's daughter into a war zone!" Camoran tried to keep both his voice and his anger down. Brad was in love, and that made even the most sensible men do idiotic things. Like not report in immediately that his best friend brought the General's daughter into a battlefield, in spite of the fact that nobody was supposed to know who she was, and just act like she was another intern._

_ "Look, Camoran…" Brad soothed, using that soft, low voice that always made him melt inside. "She just wanted to see what it was like out here; what her father goes through every day. You can't blame her for that, can you?"_

_"No, that's why I'm blaming you." Camoran grumbled, but Brad had already won. "Okay, she's seen the fighting. Now, go take her inside while I cover for your lovestruck rear."_

_Brad looked like he wanted to argue, but he knew that pushing his by the book friend even further would be a mistake. Besides, he could feel his darling shaking in his arms, obviously frightened of either the cybugs or Camoran. So he just gave his fellow cadet a smile instead. "Thanks, Cam. I owe you one!"_

_"You owe me a lot more than that." Camoran muttered, watching his sweet, attractive, completely straight best friend walk away.-_

-Calhoun jolted himself out of the preprogrammed memory before Fix It or Kohut got suspicious. He gritted his teeth at the pain his recollection brought. Brad was never even real! He was just a bit of coding made so that he could have a tragic backstory! Still…

"No civilians allowed in war zones." He growled, causing Kohut to frown. He forgot that his second in command would have remembered that part of his programmed past. It didn't matter though, as he didn't say anything.

Fix It, unaware of his inner turmoil, actually _pouted_, something that boggled Calhoun's mind enough to drag him at least partially out of his hole. He had never seen anybody do that before; he thought it was something only small animals and little kids could do. "Sir, I might not be one of your soldiers, sir, but I am _not_ a civilian!"

Calhoun crossed his arms, looking unimpressed. "Right… and what sort of battle experience does a game like Fix It Felix Jr. provide?"

Fix It hopped closer, his eyes squinting up at Calhoun in what was the closest a ball of 1980's goodness could get to glaring. "The sort that allows me to dodge all of your troops' bullets, for starters."

That was actually a reasonable response. However, Calhoun wasn't convinced. "You can't just dodge a cybug's attacks and wait for it to drop dead. What's your offensive?"

The obvious pacifist looked uneasy with the thought of actually attacking something, but he soldiered on. "I've been swinging a hammer for thirty years; as soon as I can find a good substitute in there, you can see what that can do."

Another good answer. If Calhoun was a less paranoid man, he'd be impressed. Still, he had to admit that the little sprite had spunk. He liked spunk. Still, there was one more question to ask.

"You're the main character of your game. You understand that if you die, your game is doomed to be unplugged?" This was the last chance for him to realize what he was agreeing to, what he was risking if he went with him to what could essentially be a suicide mission.

At this, Fix It gave a sad, almost painful smile. "Sir, without Ralph, we're doomed to be unplugged anyway. I don't think that much would be lost if I don't make it out of there."

Moddarnit if that didn't pull at something inside of the cold metal machine that replaced Calhoun's heart. He didn't trust his voice, and instead just looked away, pointing to the spot next to him on the board.

Felix took that as permission, and hopped right on it, grabbing onto Calhoun's leg for balance. Strangely, Calhoun didn't feel the urge to shove him off.

One solid kick to the ground, and they were off.


	4. Chapter 3

**Hello, all my fanfic reading people! Are you all enjoying your Father's Days? I know I am! Then again, it might be the euphoria from graduating form high school, which is the reason behind my absence. However, now I am back, and ready to write!**

Calhoun knew he hated Sugar Rush the second he flew in on his cruiser, Fix-It in tow. The noise, the brightness, and the overall _sweetness_ of the place was giving him a headache that he knew wouldn't go away until he left this cavity kingdom. Besides, all this pink reminded him of _her_.

_Everything about her was pink. Her clothes, her overbearing perfume that stuck to Brad's armor hours after he returned to the barracks, with a dumb, sappy smile on his face and an inability to answer questions, even his own name. Hell, even her _attitude _was pink, in a weird sort of way. All she was _was _pink, soft and fluffy, with no real substance to her. If given half a chance, she would probably try to _hug_ a Cybug into submission._

_Calhoun hated pink, all the fluffy, girliness of it. The fact that it apparently stood for gay pride, for a celebration of the weakness he hides away each day, when he swallows the urge to just pull Brad over and kiss him for doing something so sweet and stupid it practically rots teeth, came in only second in the list of reasons why he hated that color._

Calhoun shook off the feeling of rage and despair that came whenever his programmed memories overcame his senses. It wasn't real, it never really happened, and he couldn't act like it mattered, because it didn't! Instead, he surveyed the damage that could only come from years of experience.

"They don't call your friend 'Wreck-It' for nothing." He said it casually, but kept a watchful eye on the tiny protagonist, to try and get a feel for the relationship between him and his antagonist. While it was _likely_ that there was no love lost between the two of them, it might cause some trouble if Fix-It had torn loyalties. That was a weakness that the big buffoon could try an exploit. It was likely that he wouldn't be smart enough to try it, but if the big guy could take down a member of _his_ troops, even if it was just Markowski, then Calhoun didn't want to take any chances.

Just as he had figured, Fix-It fidgeted, but didn't say anything to deny any relationship, friendly or otherwise. Calhoun knew not to push it, and simply directed the cruiser to where he saw the wreckage of the escape pod.

"Is he dead?" Fix-It asked, worriedly. Calhoun noted his aghast expression, but ignored it for the moment. He could interrogate him later on the status of his relationship with the wrecker. Right now, he needed to check on whether the wrecker was ALIVE in there.

He opened the hatch, and saw that the big guy, as well as the Cybug was gone. A quick survey saw that the seat ejected, most likely taking both passengers with it. Calhoun slammed the hatch shut, then turned to face Fix-It. "He's gone. Lucky for him, or else I would have slapped his corpse."

The fixer went pale at that, but Calhoun gave him no mind, instead pulling out his tracker to find out where the Cybug went off to. Possibly the wrecker as well. He didn't think he was dealing with the type to bring something as dangerous as a Cybug around with him, especially since he seemed so squeamish around them before, but who knew what kind of lunatic they were dealing with. Somebody who abandoned their game to go to one like Hero's Duty might very well have a death wish.

Calhoun grimaced when he saw that the tracker was jammed, the green blip of the Cybug blinking all over the map. "Must be from all the sugar particles in the air," he muttered, glancing over at Fix-It.

For a minute, he considered asking him if he could take a whack at it, but decided against it. No, it was most likely to complex for a character made back when the skies were constantly dark by graphic necessity, not to create an atmosphere. Besides, him taking a whack at it would be him literally taking a whack at it, and magical or not, Calhoun doubted that hitting a piece of high tech machinery with a hammer made of gold would really improve it. Speaking of...

Calhoun walked briskly over to the nearest tree- which was made of _candy canes_, because why would this place make any logical sense- and pulled out his machete from the inventory system, starting to saw away at the branch. In no time at all, it snapped and Calhoun casually threw it towards the approaching Fix-It, who caught it with both hands. "Here. I got you something to fight with."

The platformer adjusted his hold on it awkwardly, trying to hold the branch more like a hammer instead of a club, despite it being the entirely wrong shape. "Are you sure this is necessary?" He asked fretfully, trying to move the branch into a less awkward position, but only managing to look like he was trying to swat away a bug.

Calhoun tried not to roll his eyes as he straightened out the repairman's hold on the branch to something more appropriate for hitting something other than his own face. "Unless you want to try and _fix_ the Cybugs, then yes. Look, you wanted to be here. So, unless you want to hitchhike your way out of this sugary cesspool, hit me in the face."

"What?!" He squeaked, nearly dropping the branch. "I can't hit you! You'll kill me! Erm, I mean... What if I hurt you?! Then who'll track the Cybugs?"

Calhoun ignored the first half of Fix-It's panic attack as the verbal diarrhea it was. The fact that it was also true was neither here or there. "On the slim chance you actually hurt me, then it would be an excellent chance to test out if your magic hammer heals me the way it does you."

"But..."

"But nothing, soldier." Icy eyes narrowed as Calhoun glowered down at him, using all his height as a tactical advantage in this battle of wills. Right now they weren't two characters from two different games working together because they shared the same goals. No, it was boot camp, and Sergeant Calhoun was ready to become Drill Sergeant Nasty. "Do you want to head on home with your tail behind your legs because you weren't willing to do what needed to be done, eh soldier?"

"Sir No Sir!" Fix-It stood at the ready, holding a tight salute with the branch still in his hand.

Sergeant Calhoun knelt down to look his newest recruit right in the eye. "Well then, private, are you ready to do your duty and hit me one right in the face?"

Fix-It closed his eyes to a crack, then lightly swatted in his general direction. The Sergeant was not amused.

"Soldier, did a butterfly just fly by? I think I felt a breeze. Try harder!"

This time, he actually made contact, but it was like somebody lightly poking him on the cheek.

Sergeant Calhoun stood up again to his height, practically double the size of the eight-bit figure before him. He glared down. "Is that all you got? My grandma hits harder than that, and she's in cryofreeze! How do you fix buildings with that kind of aim? Your father must have given you a-"

-BOING... CRACK!-

Next thing Calhoun knew, he was on the ground with a hand over his mouth. He removed it, looking at the red against the black leather. Blood. He was bleeding?

In front of him, Fix-It appeared to have filled his pants with a colony of fire ants from the way he was jumping about, miniature boing noises coming with every half step. There was more red on the branch then there was before.

Calhoun slowly got up, mind piecing together the events that led up to him sitting in the dirt while his companion did what appeared to be the potty dance. So, Fix-It must have jumped up and hit him one in the mouth while he was trying to get a rise out of him. Good on him; Calhoun never would have guessed he had it in him.

He spit out a tooth before trying to smile reassuringly at the frantic figure. Either because of the lack of practice or the bloodstained teeth, Fix-It took one look and kept on panicking.

"Hey..." He muttered, trying to attract his attention. When that didn't work, he tried again, slightly louder this time around. "Hey!"

Nothing. Louder again. "HEY!"

This still did not break Fix-It out of his panicked frenzy. Finally, Calhoun just knelt down and calmly slapped him. That brought him back to reality... sort of.

"I am sorry. I am so, so, SO sorry! Oh, what would my father think of me?! Attacking a soldier! I am so, so sorry!" He rambled, to a degree that Calhoun was tempted to slap him again.

"Why? It was a nice hit. Knocked me clean off my feet even. Just keep up with that aim, and you'll do just fine."

Fix-It stared up at him in amazement, something Calhoun wasn't used to. "But... Your face..."

Calhoun lightly touched the side of his face, where it was still sore. He had to hand it to the little guy; he packed a lot of punch for such a tiny package. "Well, I wonder if there's something we have to _fix_ the problem."

"Oh. Right... Hehe. Forgot about the hammer for a second there." He chuckled nervously, before taking out his hammer with an audible ting, briefly going into a well-rehearsed heroic pose before tapping it against Calhoun's bruised cheek.

It felt just like a kiss on the cheek, as sappy as it sounded. But the tingling feeling afterwards was his code reforming and not a blush creeping along his face, Calhoun hoped.

He stood up, feeling rejuvenated and energized, mind free of all his paranoid 'what ifs' and painful little reminders for the first time since he was plugged in. Resisting the temptation to laugh, he turned to his... Companion? Partner? It didn't even matter. He turned to Fix-It and resisted the urge to laugh.

"C'mon, pintsize. We have a Cybug to find."


End file.
